


On Air in 3, 2, 1! [ON HOLD]

by lemonfizzies



Category: Orbiting Human Circus of the Air (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Light Angst, and also HEALING AND SUPPORT is good, but it serves a purpose and is the driving connection, everyone should be happy and friends with each other hm yes this, if this isn't the definition of self indulgent, lotsa platonic fluff and mutual support and encouragment, that's the main focus here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8680570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonfizzies/pseuds/lemonfizzies
Summary: DISCONTINUED AS OF 06.15.17__________________Bianca's a kid who just moved to France with her aunt, who happens to be stage manager for the most popular radio show in the world!!!! (and her Narrator's a sarcastic, lazy bag of dicks)





	1. Intro

_If Host Cameron can reach it, so can I_

Famous last words from the shortest girl backstage. She's also the youngest, but age has no factor in height as far as Bianca is concerned.

However, before we truly begin, we must discuss you, my dear listener, improperly introduced. I doubt you need much introduction, seeing as you probably started this adventure after checking the tags to make sure the work aligned with your expectations, but I'm not here to make assumptions.

I am Bianca's Narrator, you're the audience, the short child about to attempt a stupidly dangerous stunt is, in fact, Bianca, and this is all taking place backstage, after a radio broadcast known as the Orbiting Human Circus (of the Air) has just gone dark. In case you haven't heard of it, the Circus is the most popular radio show in the world, hosted live from the Eiffel Tower's ballroom by John Cameron and constantly interrupted by the tower's janitor, Julian. More about him in a minute.

See, Host Cameron has enough trouble running a show with **one** star-crossed dreamer and he certainly doesn't need another, but that doesn't particularly matter to Bianca. So here she is, staring down a shelf of singing saws, about to ruin the hard work of whoever stacked the instruments to begin with. A disaster waiting to happen, if I ever saw one.

 **Now that's a bit harsh,** you think, **she's only ten.**

Well, shame on you for judging people based on appearances. She's twelve. Don't go back looking for any other mention of her height, either, because there wasn't one. I'm only saying, if you **could** see her, that's what you'd say. That's what everyone says, even her aunt, Leticia Saltier, who is not really her aunt and is currently in the left wing, reminding Stagehand Jacques for the umpteenth time to _**LIFT WITH HIS KNEES!!!**_

Leticia believes her neice, who she thinks of as a real neice, can handle herself for ten minutes while she directs the crew to break down the set for the evening. Bianca has been uncharacteristically quiet with her, a germinal bud in an unfamiliar garden, and -- *thud* What is she -- *creeeeeaaaak* *crash* Oh, Jesus!

Expositional metaphors will have to wait, dear reader, it seems that Bianca managed to bring down the whole wall-mounted unit of singing saws --

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

...and there's Cameron...

"What in the name of -- ? JULIAN!!!"

"Coming, Mr Cameron!"

Leticia rushes in from stage right!

"What?? What is zis? Who?"

The Janitor from stage left!

"Yes, what do yo-oh!"

"Julian!" Cameron bellows, even though Julian is already here, murder in his eyes, "What is the meaning of this?"

"I-I didn't! I don't!" Julian scrambles for an explanation, backing away from the host.

Bianca is half buried in a pile of saws, afraid to move and only somewhat lucid thanks to a remarkable blow to the base of her noggin.

"Am I bleeding?" She asks of no one in particular. She is, remarkably, bleeding in only two places. Of course, she can't hear me, and no one else responds, so she asks again, louder. Cameron halts dead in his tracks, lowering his fist but maintaining his grip on the front of Julian's shirt.

"Am I dead?" Bianca questions the ceiling, genuinely panicked and shifting about wildly in an attempt to test this new theory, singing saws sliding off her as she sits up and skittering in protest as she kicks them away.

I guess I could explain how Leticia is the first to spot yellow fabric and realize that's the scarf she bought her niece last week. I could describe the tedious process of Julian repeatedly whispering "Oh my God" for the next five minutes straight, at varying levels of volume, until Cameron smacks him upside the head and relegates him to restacking the saws once Jacques and Francois have re-mounted the board. I might go on to poke fun at Cameron, how he loudly laments the fact that his presence is so obviously needed after hours when he just wants to go home, how he really needs a day off and a bottle of good wine, but no!

I'm sure you would have assumed something along those lines, though. Besides, I'm a Narrator, not a sports announcer. You didn't come for a play-by-play of every tedious event, did you? Only the exciting bits.

Anyways.

That's the story of how Bianca tried to grab a singing saw off the top row, lost her balance, and dragged the whole unit off the wall down with her. This whole ruckus was only started because she so arbitrarily assumed that the higher on the board a saw was placed, the prettier it must have sounded.

That's why I said, I'm not here to assume. Assumptions can be dangerous, and Bianca had that covered already.

In all, she ended up with a disconnected scratch on her cheek and a light cut on her hand from where she'd placed all her weight on a nail rather than a saw. Her clothes - a thick turtleneck sweater, denim overalls, heavy tights, and rubber galoshes - managed to keep her from receiving any more cuts on the rest of her body, though they required heavy patching and replacing in the coming weeks.

Needless to say, Bianca is no longer allowed backstage unless accompanied by either Leticia, Cameron, or The Janitor.

Hijinks are difficult to come by on an empty stage, but I'm sure she'll manage. Until next time, folks. Until next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOH this was rly fun to write! Perfect way to end Thanksgiving break!~


	2. My Apologies, Listeners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for implied violence!
> 
> The Narrator fucked up and they're sorry, but things like this are better late than never

On your toes, everyone, on your toes. It seems I'd skipped over the introduction earlier, and we'll have to squeeze it in before continuing. My sincerest apologies but please, for now, just roll with it. We're going back about two or three months before Bianca first arrived onset. *ahem*

We open on a small, enclosed space. A dark, quiet space, where a figure stands still as possible, refusing to breathe, hoping to God that nobody notices she's here.

It isn't that anything is wrong with her being here. After all, she can't help existing. It's simply too loud and, even though she was in the kitchen first, her parents are here now. She knows she is not allowed to eavesdrop. but she can't leave without getting in the line of metaphorical fire. So, she's decided that she is not herself, and she is not cowering in the kitchen pantry.

 _I am Perseus_ she thinks, and she is he! A Greek hero of legend! Beyond the wooden doors, through the slats, terrifying Gorgons clash in midair, enthralled in some domestic dispute! Behind him, jagged cliffs. Ahead, the monsters so long plaguing the nearby villages. Many have perished in the attempt to escape this cavern with their lives...what's a demigod to do??

**"You never listen, every time you just walk away, God -- !!"**

The howl shakes the space, a tomb for those without their wits about them! He slides out from between two boulders, where he had been hiding, pressing lightly against the ledge before him. Stones tumble down the slope. He halts, certain the monsters have heard!

**"Why would I stand around and be insulted in my own goddamned house?!"**

He is safe! He begins to creep down the secret tunnel, the path to freedom! So close, he can taste --

**Yeah, real fuckin nice, David, and you wonder why your daughter is the way she is!"**

One beast has made a sound so unearthly, Perseus does a double take! Caught betwixt the back entrance of the cavern and the front, he hears footsteps! Heavy, angry footsteps, and he has nowhere to go.

The Gorgons are returning to their nest.

Our hero's shield, the world, it cracks, and the figure trembles but there is no room to fall.

Bianca clutches her half-packed lunch box to her chest, her saving grace. She was here first. She was. Here. First.

"Bianca!!"

Her mother is shocked, slightly embarrassed.

"Are you eavesdropping AGAIN?!!!"

Her father is enraged, betrayed, and furious.

She brandishes the box, tries to explain that she was too scared to leave. He has her, lifting, and her legs don't work, kicking but finding no floor beneath her, and she should have let Mom braid her hair this morning. Its burns her scalp in patches, loose and uneven. Her ears are ringing with the force of his voice, she can't hear through all the noise. Not even her own voice, her own story spinning out of control, but the images flash by just the same, ideas playing out behind leaking eyelids.

_Perseus lost his shield, bronze clattering loudly against the stone path as it went rolling. The Gorgons whirled, alert, hungry. He froze, should he dive for the shield? Should he try to blend in? No, his clothes! He thought, **I cannot blend in with my clothes. I look nothing like marble!** _

_He dove for the shield too late! Medusa knocked it out of reach, with her tail. Her sister, the Immortal, pounced, knocking Perseus to the ground. He banged his head against the feet of another victim, the statue cracking and falling around him. Stone dust got in his eyes, burning them, and he flailed blindly against the Gorgons. The Immortal did not blink. With one jump, Medusa was beside her, and both looked down at the tiny man with hate._

_Perseus was not ready to die._

_The Immortal picked him up and started to toss him around like a ball of string. Perseus couldn't tell up from down, left from up, or anything about everything once he'd hit his head enough. Everything hurt. Not just in his bones and body but in his chest, in his mind, too. Flying back-and-forth between Medusa and The Immortal hurt and mixed up everything in his head and heart and soul. Every blow was a reminder that he was not Hercules and that no one would make statues of him in his honor. He would BE the statue. He was going to die, crumbling into nothing like any other other idiot. Perseus felt woozy._

_Perseus did not die._

_Medusa turned to her sister and laughed, saying **To think, we almost lost him!"**_

_Perseus remembered too late that Gorgons do not see in color but in motion. He would have been safe in the statues._

_Perseus died._

No, no that's too sudden.

Her mother bites her lip as she gently touches her husband's shoulder. He pauses, arm raised, and something somewhere breaks. Bianca is dismissed and she begins padding softly down the hall to her room, one hand brushing the wall, somewhat numb and grasping for a sense of solidity.

_Medusa picked Persues up and he broke his fingernails clawing at the ground. She raised him high, and The Immortal bashed his head with her paw until his eyes rolled and rolled and popped right out of his head. Two of Medusa's snakes scooped the rolling spheres from the stone floor, swallowing with a self-satisfied hiss. Then, Perseus couldn't die by turning to stone, couldn't die even if he wanted to, not by accident or by self-initiative. The choice was gone._

I feel like I should say something, here, if you'll pardon the interruption. It's getting a bit gruesome, I know.

I just...i don't want you to get the wrong idea. Yes, this is...well, this is a rather depressive take on a well-beloved myth. I just don't want you to think, I mean, I couldn't stand it if....er...

Listen, Bianca doesn't mean to think about things like that but, well, it happens. Quite a bit, actually. Her dad blames it on too much reading. Bianca's always got her head in a book, he says, and he's right in the word, not the spirit. They give her ideas about freedom and safety and chemicals, you know? Science and things, things they don't talk about in school or at home. It just happens that the ideas often come tangled in murder mysteries and cutthroat adventures. Once they're in her head, those scenes have a funny way of sticking. Especially the more graphics depictions. They're there all the time, and she'll pull them apart and piece them back together to make new scenes. Mostly when she's nervous or excited or bored. It helps her calm down, you know, or it keeps her head busy and blocks out a lot of the negativity. So...well, her head's **always** buzzing to some degree. It's always happened that way, and nothing's **wrong** with that, exactly, I mean, she's never hurt herself or anyone else by pretending to impale Stuffers on the end of a pencil and string him up for (imagined) passerby to intentionally ignore. Stuffers is just her plush rabbit, it can't feel anything and she knows it. It's sort of relaxing for her, in a way.

That's it, that's what I wanted to get across. It's a release, see, it's a *the crinkle and scratch of pages turning rapidly* a catharsis! Yes, that's it. It's not like...She isn't...Just don't be concerned. That's all, don't be concerned. It's fine. She's fine.

That's what she's doing, now, finally safe in her room (a punishment turned saving grace). She's got Stuffers in her lap, holding his fabric arm nubs in both hands and making swish! ching! noises as she acts out the Legend of Perseus one final time.

_Perseus lost his shield ,bronze clattering loudly against the stone path as it went rolling. The Gorgons whirled, alert, hungry. He froze, should he dive for the shield? Should he try to blend in?_

Stuffers is held aloft, half hidden behind Bianca's leg but shaking ever so slightly along with her hands.

_He was still holding his breath, appearing, for all the world, as a statue. The Gorgons sniffed, blinked, waited. The sister wandered off to another part of the cavern. Medusa saw nothing until Perseus sprung for his shield, a loud tumbling explosion that brought Medusa screaming to pounce upon him. Slamming down on both sides, denting the floor around the cowering intruder, she glared down to ensure they could never escape a new stony prison._

_Medusa caught her own reflection in a metallic blur, eyes aglow, and thought that she still looked quite striking, despite her curse._

_Medusa died, all stone lungs and stone heart and stone everything else._

Stuffers was jerked up and down around the bedspread in mock glee, Perseus in triumphant return. Bianca took the role of the cheering crowd, albeit at whispering volume.

At least one of them had attained a happy ending and that was alright enough for now.

However, this story didn't roll over quite as easily with Katryn's mom, who seemed more focused on the idea that Perseus had been attacked at all to begin with. But Greek Heroes were always getting attacked and pulling through, right? Why was he any different? Katryn's mom gave Bianca a very long, long, silent stare, and sent her home. Roughly a week and a half later, just long enough for Bianca to then be surprised at the mention of the incident, a woman in a plain suit and carrying a clipboard arrived to explain that there had been suspicions as to the competence of the caretakers in this household, would we mind if she stepped inside? One toe in the door, one foot cross the ledge, she and a large panel eventually crossed to survey the house, the family, and Bianca's responses to certain questions. One day, as they left, they took Bianca with them. No warning, and her father yelled and her mother cried, and Bianca felt a strange breathless void bloom where her crying should have started. That s why she's with her Aunt, not forever, but for "the foreseeable future," as the woman in the suit had explained. Just while Mom and Dad keep answering more questions. Ongoing Investigations, they're called. She's not sure she likes it.

Not that she doesn't love her aunt, not that it's boring to see the most popular radio show in the world as it's performed live every week, not that it isn't a relief to stand freely in a room without listening for footsteps, to sleep without the aid of a screaming match. She just hasn't figured out what to do with that void and it's making everything feel different and just a little bit empty.

 

...

 

*a page is turned, a plastic chair creaks, a fountain pen begins to tap nervously against a wooden surface*

Once again, listeners, my sincerest apologies about the mix-up. I know you were looking forward to this week's story, and believe me, I was looking forward to **telling** it. That'll have to wait, I suppose. *a soft sigh* I'll make sure nothing like this happens again. Tune in next week, where we'll check in backstage in the aftermath of the Singing Saw Incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dfshgmmmn forgive me. brighter times are ahead, i swear! (^~^;;)


	3. A Friend in the Rafters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sidd Sanderson's entire existence is the intellectual property of my lovely friend Lucy! You can find more about Sidd at  
> cricketsandconstellations.tumblr.com  
> Thank you thank you so much for letting me use her, dude! It's been lit, hope I did ya justice!  
> __

“Leave ehr alone, John! It’s not Bianca’s fault if zher ah no signs oh anyzing!”

“It’s a corkboard mounted to the wall in a closet! Who really needs a sign saying ‘please do not attempt to climb?’”

“She’s a child, zhey don’t always --”

“Exactly, she's a **child**! She can’t be  **back here** , Leticia. We’ve got enough on our plate trying to keep that blasted janitor off the air, I really can’t handle that kid wrecking my instruments on top of it. _Niece or otherwise_.”

And with that, dear listener, we return - more or less uninterrupted - to the scene of the crime. Bianca is nowhere to be found, but neither Host nor Stage Manager have noticed her slip off during their first truly heated exchange. The saw mount, mounted and abandoned posthaste by Jacques and Francois, is now left entirely in The Janitor’s care.

Despite his best efforts to skirt the edges of their argument, The Janitor glances back just in time to catch Host Cameron’s pointed glare. He freezes on tiptoe, saw raised by the blade above his head, and promptly ducks on instinct, hooking the handle on the nail as he shrinks down. Suddenly alive with the buzzing awareness of his own existence, he can’t seem to find a single handle amongst the mess of blades at his feet. He feels the air leave his lungs, however briefly, and can’t see anything past his arm, he feels the blades, sure, he hears them moving, but he can’t bring himself to look properly, his motions becoming more and more frenzied until he jerks up suddenly with a yelp!

“Do you  **mind**?!” John shouts, whirling to face The Janitor who is clutching his wrist to his chest with frightened eyes.

The Janitor pales, squeaks, and, in a panic, holds out his bleeding hand, as if this would help anything. The fleshy bulge where his thumb meets his wrist has been sliced. The man attempts to explain himself, his interruption, but Host Cameron’s eyes betray no sympathy and he falters almost immediately.

“Julian, just go.” Leticia cuts him off, hands on her hips and exasperation in her tone. “John and I ‘ave much to discuss. Don’t worry about zhe saws.”

The Janitor nods gravely, stepping gingerly around Mr. Cameron, and all but sprints down the hall. As he crosses the stage, bare and unlit, he halts.

“Did you hear that?” he directs a furious whisper up, towards the corner of his eye. A beat. “Okay, okay, right!” He shakes his head and continues, rushing off into the wings.

Meanwhile, in the shadowed rafters of the Grand Ballroom, Bianca continues to watch over the empty stage from above, legs swinging off the edge of the scaffolding. She’d seen the platforms before, sure, and asked Aunt Tish about them when she arrived for her first show. As best she could remember (she’d stopped listening after she caught sight of the Orchestral), there was a mysterious crew member who would change the paintings in the ballroom when nobody was looking, and then Aunt Tish said something about staying off the platforms. Which was completely unfair.

Bianca had been caught between Host Cameron and Leticia earlier, when they first started to raise their voices, and it reminded her so much of home that she just bolted. She couldn’t handle it, and she didn’t know where she was going or what she would do when she got there, but she was sure as heck not going to stick around while people yelled over her again. Her head was tight and stuffed with too many buzzing ideas, and so she did what she always did when she was upset: she took all the bad shaky energy and used it to do something. In this case, she managed to clamber from platform to platform, higher and higher, until her legs started to feel stiff and she lost her footing. She slipped and landed hard on one of the platform she'd just left, the shaking the structure so that she thought, for a moment, she might fall, and now she’s here, just sitting. Upon seeing a blur of motion onstage she called out, waving, but they only paused briefly before moving on. Disappointed, she fails to notice the young lady nearby, whose attention has been caught by all the ruckus.

Sidd Sanderson, without the aid of any harnessing systems whatsoever, had been slowly making her way down from the network of higher ceiling-mounted beams. Her paintbrush now safely stowed in her apron pocket, she is free to finally investigate the racket coming from down below. It never took much to beckon the teen to the safety of the lower floors, being ever-so-slightly afraid of heights, but this time she had been in the midst of an artistic breakthrough! A particularly wonderful paisley design had worked its way into her head and she’d been quite keen to test the colors against a certain patch of ceiling from a few weeks ago. She’d been mixing and testing patterns all through the show that evening, no one noticing the dimly lit shadow above while the show was running wild.

Sidd often likes to paint during shows, the light shifting to suit the various shifting acts, and no one alone or bored enough to interrupt. People, especially nosy patrons, had already proved difficult to manage when the stage went dark. So many questions, critiques, compliments, it could be a bit overwhelming.

She hadn’t heard the crash backstage, too far up to hear, but she  **had**  picked up on the resulting chaos; Host Cameron’s meltdown, specifically, and the sudden swaying and banging amongst the scaffolding that followed. What could be going on this time? Certainly the Janitor was too late to ruin the show…and what in the world was shaking the beams like that?

A sudden shout snapped her out of her thoughts, startling her with its close proximity. Someone -- no, as Sidd looked below, it was not just someone, it was a  **child**. How did a kid get up here???

“Are you a’ight?” she called out, quickening her descent, "Miss, how did you-?"

Bianca turned, not registering the audio and only just catching Sidd in the corner of her eye, such that the teen was entirely reduced to a blur of dark movement. Bianca was not in the tower, then, she was simply someplace she knew she should not have been.  She was up on her feet in a hot minute, one arm out to stop God knows what. Then she saw, it wasn't anyone, who did she think it would even be? It was just a girl, older than herself but still too young to be a stagehand.

Sidd had halted immediately with the raised arm, always sensitive to the nonverbal cues. So then both stood frozen, sizing up, finding nothing of malintent. Then, Bianca finally noticed that paintbrush in the apron, the colors staining Sidd's face and hands.

"Woah, hey!"

The arm is down, and the distance closed, Sidd recognized, vaguely, for what she is.

"What's your name? Where do you come from, where do you go, how much paint does it take to cover an old layer on the walls, do you ever get paint in your eyes? I'm Bianca, by the way, you're the one painting the walls when nobody's looking, right? Are you a ghost?"

Sidd is pleasantly surprised by the sudden outburst that doesn't seem to end. She sits, laughs, explains. Yes, a painter, no, never onstage before, and absolutely wouldn't mind being brought a drawing on occasion. She points to her favorite pieces upon request and exchanges her name. Not many have expressed such an admiration for her work, and it's certainly an experience to hear what a half-finished mural might be. An archangel made of spaghetti, well, why not? And Bianca, too, finds herself replying to quite a few inquiries. No, no ladders or anything, just climbed up the platforms one by one. The headphones don't work, not now, anyways, theyre just to keep bad noises out. Doing an awful job, though, did you hear I knocked over the singing saws? I thought my ears would bleed,  I mean, boy was Host Cameron yelling!

They didn't know how much time had passed, the unease of the first moment all but forgotten, along with the awkward stretch of time where no one is sure if they are quite friends yet. They make excellent company, still laughing and still talking even later and later with no obvious lull. Kindred spirits, and Bianca decides that she will have to be her sister now. Each other's sisters? She'll have to ask Aunt Tish how to make someone a really real sister later on.

Jacques, of all people, finally asks where Leticia's niece might be, concern masked with the flippant suggestion that she might break some vital prop if left unsupervised.

And as Leticia sends the stagehand himself out to look, Bianca finds herself in a rather comical game of hide and seek where the goal is to eventually be found  a considerable distance from where one started. Ways are parted, promises to visit are made, and Bianca thinks that she would knock over the saws again if it meant she could find another friend even half as good as Sidd Sanderson. Something about the whole affair made the breathless space shrink down, just to make room for the painter in the rafters of that Grand Ballroom.

*the sound of pages turning for a solid seven seconds, interspersed with various hushed noises of incredulity* Is that all?! Really? It can't be.

I swear, they ought to talk with my author, you'd think she was being paid for nothing...Ah! Well, either way, friends, the story hasn't even progressed a single day and yet here we are, going on four installments! Perhaps I should skip past her first encounter with the Janitor. Take you all straight to the crew dinner at Le Petit Poisson? Then again, I don't know if I could get away with a script error two weeks in a row. Oh, I'm eating up the airtime again, aren't I? Before I know it, they'll start the closing commercials. Until next ti -- *a whimsical tune, a male voiceover* I am Andrew Ryan, and I am here to ask you a question. Is a man not entitled to the swe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a note for the Narrator as to which story you'd rather hear next time (the befriending of the Janitor or the crew dinner)! The one with the most requests(?) will be posted first, and otherwise it'll be author's pick. Chapters are also gonna be significantly shorter, more or less this length from here on out (as opposed to the average 2k), until I find an actual driving plot worthy of foreshadowing woop
> 
> Check @internbev on twitter for updates on exactly when various fic will be updated (nothing is consistent here ahhh....)


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